


Shoots, Paints, Writes

by the_anon_G



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_anon_G/pseuds/the_anon_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark, artsy film major, (live) blogs his obsession for the angel with gray eyes. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoots, Paints, Writes

He doesn’t know where to begin, really.

 

He is a filmmaker. He, well, makes films - short, independent ones, most of the time using his trusty handy camera. None that you’ve probably heard of, although in the mostly exclusive circles of self-proclaimed indie aficionados a mention of his name would usually procure interest -h _e has an artist’s eye_ , most would say. The comment always makes him smile – if you would consider an upward tilt of the right corner of his mouth a smile - because while film is his current medium of choice, painting has always been his first love. The colorful canvasses that hang in every wall of the attic which he had converted into his studio are proof, as well as the sketches that litter the floor.

 

He had also been told that he has a way with words. He barely remembers the reason why, but one fine (bored) day, he made for himself an online journal – a blog, in other words. Although he had no idea what to do with it at first, he eventually found himself hooked – astounded with the idea that other people could see his work and were actually interested, gaining reviews, rants, and raves, either commending him for a job well done or simply dropping anonymous hate. But the best part of it, for Peeta Mellark, was that it was his, and he could do anything he wanted with it, without anyone even knowing it was him. It was a free universe.

 

> **_ Bloggr text post #163 _ **
> 
> **_Rain drops are falling on her head…_ **
> 
> _I would never be able to forget that scene. She just appeared out of nowhere, rocketing out of the packed crowd with her little umbrella. Water and mud splashed about, staining her immaculate feet in those little flat shoes, but she kept on until she reached the little woman in the alley. The little woman with two little children, rummaging to save the little property that they had – a cardboard box that kept their butts off the cold pavement, a grimy plastic bag that I imagine contained the things for the thin, fragile-looking baby that the woman held, and a graying, faded knapsack that must have held their only clothes._
> 
> _And this girl, she ran to them, no, floated – like an angel – and handed the woman her umbrella, put her handkerchief on top of the baby’s head, and ran back to the staring crowd. Just like that. And she was smiling as she ran back. Her clothes were soaked, but she was smiling with her grey eyes, and what a radiant smile it was._
> 
> #personal     #working drink nights   #or drinking work nights #life in slow mo

 

 

Peeta was with his friends that night, killing time at their usual haunt known as the Hob and enjoying the music, the booze, the company. They had work in a week’s time – this little band of men and women way past their teens that thought of themselves as the rising voice of the independent art and film industry.

 

“This is part of pre-production,” Finnick reminded them, drowning another pint of beer.

“Whatever,” Delly, the director of photography, mumbled.

 

Suddenly it started to drizzle, light drops of water making a tapping noise on the roof over their heads.

“Who suggested going al fresco again?” Johanna asked, annoyed. She was their feisty and currently tipsy special effects and editing girl - the best in their class, although she was better known for being an intimidating bitch despite her petite size.

Peeta flinched, guilty. “We sat out here so we can discuss the project Jo. It’s too fucking loud inside. Besides, it’s only a little drizzle…”

 

It was only a minute later when the drizzle started to become heavier, pelting them with loud, forceful drops and becoming a full-on outpour. Around them people were screaming in good fun as they got out of the rain; the girls worrying for their heels, the men hooting for wet shirts. Everyone ducked for cover, and soon, they were all squished under the bar’s little deck.

 

Nobody noticed that across the street, a small family was under fire from the rain drops. Nobody, until a girl showed up.

 

Peeta Mellark was in the middle of the crowd of, say, thirty people. At first, all he heard were whispers, curses.

 

“Shit, stop pushing!”

“Watch it!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes, goddamit!”

 

_There was something almost cinematic about it_ , he will later on tell himself when he tries to recall the scene. It was just so out of place. It seemed like she was being catapulted out of the chasm of bodies into the dark, wet abyss, and she flies, with her little white umbrella that could’ve just been wings, blessing the little woman and her children with shelter, albeit temporary.

 

Everyone was hushed. Silence. She rustles back, only the splashes of her feet on the street puddles audible. She rejoins the crowd, and this time, they give her space. She was drenched, and it was cold. Peeta Mellark did the only thing he could think of at the time.

 

He didn’t even realize he was already next to her until she turned to him. He saw her face then, and she had on a little smile, her cheeks flushed either from the cold, the effort of running, or from the attention she had gotten. Little drops of water were streaming down her soaked hair to her face, her nose and her lips. He also noted the long braid of dark hair that weighed on her shoulders, and the wet shirt that was stuck to her skin. But what caught his attention most was the pair of gray eyes that locked on his. It must have taken a minute or more – Peeta wishes it was less – until he found his wits again and handed her his jacket which he had taken off on his way over.

 

She took the jacket, surprised. Her lips had just parted, perhaps to say something, but the silent bubble they had seemed to be enclosed in was suddenly broken. A man, tall with the same dark hair as hers, placed an arm over her shoulders and steered her away.

 

“You’re really weird, you know that, Catnip?”

 

Peeta could hear her voice as she replied. She was already a little distance away when she turned to his direction, their eyes once again meeting and trying to continue the conversation they had started. But the crowd quickly filled in the gap, and soon, she was out of his sight.

 

 

> **_ Bloggr text post #165 _ **
> 
> _Catnip. That must be her name. I’m not sure, because alcohol warps perception, and heaven knows how much I had taken that night. I’m pathetic, I know. But she’s stuck here, in my mind, that scene playing over and over and over… The more it plays, the clearer her face becomes to me._
> 
> _She can keep my jacket. I have decided that the moment I handed it to her it had stopped being mine. But I want to see her again._
> 
> _God, ~~I just want to see her again.~~_

 

He spent nights at that same bar, at the same outside table, in the weeks that followed. Sometimes he was with friends, sometimes he was alone. During those nights he was able to write plots and storylines for his next films. He had made numerous sketches of the scene, of this girl. He has at least five paintings of her, but he was never happy with the finished products, knowing in his heart that it lacked something. The depth in her eyes, the right amount of flush in her cheeks…  It lacked reality. It wasn’t the same. She was a source of inspiration as well as frustration.

 

Sometimes he _feels_ like it had all been a dream, but he _knows_ it’s real.

 

At first, his group of friends humored him, going to all the social networking sites they could think of, searching for a girl who went by the name Catnip and all its derivatives and sound-alikes. They even tried to convince Peeta to show them one of his paintings of her to post around and check if anyone could identify her by her face, but he wouldn’t allow it, saying it was bordering on creeper status and would probably scare her off. But after a while, Delly sat him down for a serious talk, telling him that his ‘crush’ wasn’t healthy anymore. Peeta nodded, knowing that Delly only had good intentions. But he knew he couldn’t stop.

 

There was something about that girl – maybe her eyes? Her smile? – something that made time stop around him when he saw her. She was a stranger, but she felt familiar, like he knew her all his life. For reasons he couldn’t explain, she mattered. Maybe he wanted to thank her for the inspiration that helped him make his final film thesis (Light and Shadows in Movement – The Chiaroscuro of Kindness). Maybe he just wants to hear her say thank you for the jacket.

 

 Jesus, his jacket. He had almost forgotten he gave her that. At least it’s evidence that she was real.

 

He had seen the same crowd, listened to the same pop-grunge-noise that tried to pass itself for music, stared at the same smoky cloud that hung low around the bar. It had been three weeks of this vigil - the waiting for the girl with the gray eyes to show up again - when he finally decided that she was gone. He truly drank then, going a little too much, and could not get home by himself.

 

“What the hell, Peeta?” Delly asked as Finnick dragged him off his chair and onto his shoulders like a sack of flour. One of the bartenders was a former classmate of Peeta and his friends, and luckily enough still had Delly’s number. He called her when the bar was closing up and noticed Peeta snoring on his table.

 

“I was trying to get into my artistic mood,” Peeta garbled. He had always had a sense of humor, but the alcohol seemed to rob him off it at the moment, the same way it took away his inhibitions. “Goddammit, where is she?”

 

Finnick had started the engine and soon they were flying off into the road. It was past 2 AM. Delly was in the passenger seat, but she had turned around to look at her friend.

Her face was livid. “What the fuck, Peeta? Stop being so… so…”

 

“Pathetic? Stupid? Gorgeous?”

 

Finnick was sniggering even when Delly glared at him. “Sorry Del, but he’s never this hilarious when he’s sober.”

Delly shook her head, sighing. Peeta assumed that it was of disgust. “You never ask for much, Peet. But when you do, it’s always – ALWAYS – something that is so difficult to happen. It’s just so sad…”

Peeta was quiet, his head slightly sobered up by the reality of Delly’s words. “It is.”

 

The last time he wanted something so bad (and confided to Delly about it) was when they were still eight-year-olds. He had wished for his mother to like him. He didn’t even wish for her to stop hitting him, to stop hurting him. He just wanted, for once, to hear her say that he had done something right, out of all the things she made him do around the house even at the expense of his studies. It never happened. Up to his mother’s death seven years ago, in the freak bus accident where Mrs. Adelaide Mellark had been a casualty, he had never felt his mother’s approval of his existence.

 

But he grew up loving and trusting of the world, even when he only had his father to show him how. He had two older brothers, who, although they never defended him from their mother, patched up his bruises as much as they could and gave him an extra portion of their shared bar of chocolate to cheer him up. He had Delly who lived next door, and soon in college, he met Finnick, Johanna, and even Finnick’s girlfriend Annie. They were his friends, his family now.

 

He has had an acceptable number of girlfriends in the past – he was after all a good-looking, kind-natured boy. But none of his relationships felt quite right, and he never trusted any one of those girls enough to let them in his attic, to his little world, where all his pent-up emotions were on display in the paints and canvasses.  Art was his escape, and it seemed like it would remain solitary… Until he saw that girl, who was selfless and humble and beautiful, who cared for nothing but the poor homeless little family she wanted to help. There was something in her gray eyes that made him want to share his world – the little attic and everything – with her.

 

He never asks for anything. But this time he had prayed to the heavens, to the higher being that he never really gave much thought to previously. But there was no answer.

 

As if to mock him, rain had started to clatter on the car roof. A song started to play on the radio, and although it was the first time he’s ever heard it, the words struck deep, hard.

 

_Tell me when I can afford to be with you. I find it hard to think that you are gone. Is it ok if I run after you? And push myself just to be with you?_

“Gone, just like that,” he mumbles, already half asleep.

 

There were audible sighs in front of the car.

 

> **_ Bloggr text post #205 _ **
> 
> **_New project, new life, roar little lion man._ **
> 
> _This is nice. No, this is awesome. Two of the stories I had in mind just got the attention of this new film outfit, would you believe? Of course, I don’t expect the good things to come in instantly – I mean, they haven’t even approved it yet. After all, their company is new, and more than anything, they need good publicity and easy money. A commercial film will give them that – and I do not make that kind. Just crossing my fingers still._
> 
> _#real life #personal_

 

 

> ** Bloggr text post #207 **
> 
> **< no title>**
> 
> _I’m getting myself back together. Not that I got lost… well, okay, I did. But I’m getting better. My good pals are helping me get over this…obsession._
> 
> _\--read more –_
> 
> _Delly, my ace cinematographer, Jo, our spitfire writer, Finnick the ever-dependable shoulder to cling into when I’m ass-drunk and unable to stand on my own two feet… they all have been there to remind me of what’s real and what’s not._
> 
> _But that scene – three months ago now – still plays in my head so vividly, like it happened not more than 24 hours ago._
> 
> _Did she not go with another man, meaning she is taken? Delly asks. What can I say? I can be a person of unbreakable denial._
> 
> _Why do I want to see her again? Maybe because I want my jacket back. I want that part of my life back with me, to make my mind as clear as it had been before that night._
> 
> _#still hung up   #pretty much   #personal_
> 
>  

 

The sound of the door bell was loud and insistent, even in the shower.

 

“Could someone get that? I just got in the bath!” Peeta yelled. He knew his roommate Mitchel did not go to school today, on the pretense of working on his thesis.

He turned the water on, soon disconnecting himself from the rest of the world. He closed his eyes, hearing the echo of the water bouncing on the tiles. Cold, but soothing. He had always preferred cold over scalding when it came to showers. He took his time, and was just drying himself with a towel when a loud knock nearly made him jump.

 

“Looking for you,” he heard Mitchel’s drowsy grunt from the room.

Peeta wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. “Who?”

“I don’t know man, haven’t seen them before. You didn’t go picking up them journalism girls again, did you?”

 

“I’m not here,” he chuckled, walking around his friend to retrieve his pants on the bed. There had been several times when he was interviewed by other students for their paper or something, him having been involved in several cult films in the past – as part of the minor cast, one of the writers, or, as is his major achievement so far, being the assistant director. But today, he had an appointment waiting – the real thing, a few hours from now. They’d understand.

_I need a haircut soon,_ he thought a little distractedly, brushing the blonde curls at the top of his backwards. Film and art people are supposed to look rugged though, aren’t they? He passed Mitchel on the couch flipping through cable as he made his way to the kitchen for breakfast. There was a package on the table, brown wrapping paper slightly opened.

 

“The girls left that,” Mitchell said. “Says it’s yours.”

Peeta spared the package a closer glance as he drank some orange juice straight from the box. There was something inside, and it looked familiar. Painfully familiar.

“Isn’t that the jacket your dad got you for your birthday last year?”

 

_Shit_.

 

~~_Is it okay if I run after you?_ ~~

Peeta couldn’t get out of the door fast enough, and he was met by the blinding light of the outside world. He ran to the street with the jacket in one hand and the box of juice on the other. There was a deafening, almost painful beating in his chest, and it was the only thing that he could hear. The world seemed to be muted.

 

Even with her back turned he knew it was her.

 

“Wait!”

 

She turned, her lips flat, almost in a scowl. But her eyes showed recognition, and Peeta could finally see the same pair of gray that had been etched in his memory. Then, a smile broke on her lips. It made him stare at her, his jaw falling. He was frozen in the realization that, in the bright light of day, she was even more beautiful.

 

“You were in the shower,” she said, her voice soft, shy.

“I was,” he stammered, flushing when he realized he sounded like an idiot. “You found me.” 

She looked at him, studying his face. “I guess I did.” She then reached out, taking the jacket in her hands. She flipped one side of the collar, exposing the lining inside. “You have your name and address here, Peeta Mellark.”

 

 

> ** Bloggr text post #215 **
> 
> **I am taken. So taken.**
> 
> _Who would’ve thought that inking my name and address with Sharpie on a jacket collar would bring part of my life to me? Damn, everything you need to learn you really DO learn in elementary._
> 
> _I used to tell people (you, my dear reader, are a witness) that I don’t mind being single. But hell, I said that too early. I should’ve known that at one point I was going to meet a person, and everything I ever believed in will go crumbling down. I am a new man, people._
> 
> #personal  #yes yes yes

  

Peeta soon finds out that her name was Katniss. She still had a year more to spend at the university. She was very quiet, but he soon realizes that earning one of her smiles is a prize worth vying for. He also discovers that he could learn quite a lot just by looking at her.

 

“Why?”

 

He had to ask her. It was the second time she had agreed to have tea with him. The first time had been when she returned the jacket two weeks ago. It was casual and she was with her friend, Madge. It lasted for no more than 30 minutes. This time, he made it a point to wait for her outside her campus and there was just the two of them.

 

“What?” she asked. Peeta found it interesting that she often avoided looking in his eyes. He thought it was probably because she was so shy. That, or maybe she had noticed that he had been staring at her way too much. Her fingers remained laced around her tea cup, the drink halfway done.

“You remember that night?”

“Of course.”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Why?” He doesn’t understand it either, but he just seems to get stuck at every attempt to continue the question. _Why did you return the jacket? Why did you run into the rain like that? Why did you capture a part of me?_

 

“I thought you wanted it back,” she said casually, when he finally got out his first ‘why’. “Didn’t you?”

He paused, willing himself to come up with a witty remark. There was none.

“Well, that night, I was just with my friends,” she started, her finger tracing the rim of her tea cup. “We had just finished this research proposal, and we were celebrating…”

Peeta was listening to her, nodding, when something suddenly dawned on him. “Isn’t he going to object to this… er, date?”

“Who?” she asked, looking mildly amused. She could have even been blushing, but Peeta wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just the light playing tricks on his eyes. He was at least relieved that she didn’t react violently to the ‘date’ part.

“That guy who was with you that night.” _The one who held you and tried to make it clear that you were his, like a primitive creature marking his damn territory._

The look on Katniss’s face was a cross between laughing and choking. “Gale? He’s not my… he’s just a friend. We’ve known each other for like forever, almost like a brother to me. He just tends to be… touchy-feely.”

She was chuckling as she said this, and Peeta couldn’t help the grin forming on his face.

“That explains,” he said, and it was as if he was floating, and nothing could bring him down. It was a beautiful afternoon.

 

> ** Chat post <Dellythequeen><PeetaM> **
> 
> _Dellythequeen: It’s really romantic, the way she returned the jacket at around the same time that you realized you wanted it back. Very serendipity._
> 
> _PeetaM: Now that you mention it… I think it’s meant to be._
> 
> _Dellythequeen: Who are you and what did you to my best friend?_
> 
> _PeetaM: Shut up._

Peeta Mellark was given a second chance, and he knew that it would be the mistake of a lifetime if he let it pass. The more he saw her, the more he felt that it wasn’t enough. She was a mystery, and he wanted to know more. He wanted to discover what lies beneath her calm demeanor, understand the complexities that define who she is. Maybe even see the world through her eyes. He still had questions that only she could answer.

 

One weekend evening he called her. Over the phone they exchanged the usual pleasantries, and he learned that she was currently online, doing research. The conversation was normal, enjoyable as usual. But somehow she sounded a little off. He thought it was probably because it was already nearing midnight.

 

“Are you okay? You sound a little… guarded,” he asked, not able to stand the one-word answers anymore. She was silent, but he heard a silent response that she was fine.

Again, he didn’t know why, but somehow the question popped up.

“Why did you give me my jacket back? I mean… I’m not exactly in your vicinity. It took some effort.”

She laughed. “You said you wanted it back.”

“I did?”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Fine.I…  I don’t think I can forever keep it in peace anyway. I read it, Peeta.”

 

_What?_

 

“I’ve been kind of a lurker in your blog for some time now. I know I should’ve told you sooner, or at least sent you a message online or something as soon as I realized it was you… I’m not making any sense, am I?”

Peeta felt like his brain had frozen, the little cogs and wheels getting the information through very, very slowly. _Read what?_

“I’m sorry,” she said with a heavy breath. “I would understand if you don’t want to… to talk anymore. I know it’s creepy, okay?”

The wheels were still trying to turn, even as he registered that she was starting to sound defensive.

“I just realized I had to find you.”

 

It was a full two minutes of silence before Peeta realized that he was smiling. “Katniss?”

“Please say something. I feel like a perverted follower,” she said, her voice now sounding of surrender as well as sincere apology.

“So you’ve read it all?” he asked, suddenly giddy. “Are you reading it now?”

“I have it open on one window, yes.”

“Well… what do you think?”

 

She cleared her throat. “Well, you’re a very good writer, that’s for sure. Interesting entries… You were able to hook a complete stranger into your life, obviously. You write well, you paint really well, you make films… I envy you.”

 

He felt flattered, but those were not the words he wanted to hear. “No. I meant… what you think of…” _There was no easy way to get to it_ , he realized. “I can’t get you off my mind since that night.”

 

“And I found you, didn’t I?”

 

> ** Bloggr Text Post #300 **
> 
> _No, it didn’t turn out to be as romantic as I thought it was. The return of my jacket was in no way a sign that some higher being had taken pity on my non-existent love life. She did not just randomly feel that fateful urge to search for the owner. It was, after all, through the work of the mighty internet. In fact, it is through this very blog you are reading now that I have been granted my second chance._
> 
> _Hello miss, I know you’re reading this too. And that’s right, I’ve been writing about **you**._

~~kpkpkpkpkpkpkp~~

“Why did you do what you did that night?”

 

She squinted at him, feigning innocence. “Huh?”

Peeta played along, planting kisses along her neck as they laid in bed, her back to his chest . “Why did you rush out into the rain, give your umbrella away, and then run back like it was the most important thing in the world?”

Katniss sighed as he kissed the spot under her earlobe. She turned her face into him, smiling the same little smile that caught Peeta’s attention exactly three years ago. “Because.”

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I realize Bloggr is a very lame blog name. Sorreeeeeeh.
> 
> This was loosely based on things that happened in real life (mine). Well, it wasn't nearly as fluffy, but I'm with my boy now, so I guess that ended well. LOL.


End file.
